Dereliction of Duty
by TheGoldenSeraphim
Summary: Series of one-shots following HBP. So many people have failed Harry Potter... including Harry himself. Take a look inside the minds of those who failed and KNOW it. Rated M just in case. COMPLETE.
1. Prologue: Albus Dumbledore

**Dereliction of Duty**  
Prologue – Albus Dumbledore

The fog clears in my mind, and I look around, astonished.

I don't know where I am.

The last thing I remember is pleading with Severus. I knew the Oath he had taken. I did not want him to die. I did not want Mr. Malfoy to die. And so I pleaded with him, praying that he'd understand.

And Harry… oh, _Harry_… I pray he's all right. I have failed him. I know I did.

I get slowly to my feet, starting as I realize that I do not recognize the surface upon which I stand. I reach into my pocket in search of a lemon drop – they are always such a comfort to me – only to realize that, not only do I have no lemon drops, but I have no pockets.

I don't know where I am.

There's mist all around me. I can't see through it.

Ahead of me, a couple steps through the mist.

"Hello, Albus," James says clearly. "Welcome to the next great adventure."

Lily smiles at me, and I stare at her. Behind them, Sirius steps through the mist, followed by Cedric Diggory.

"You did it again, Dumbledore," Sirius says harshly.

"Sirius!" Lily admonishes. "Now is not the time to be holding a grudge!"

"Now is the perfect time," Sirius growls. "When have I had a chance to scream at him in the past year?"

"I'm all for demanding what the hell he thinks he was doing with our Harry, Sirius," James says slowly. "But we should give the man a moment to adjust. This is a big transition."

"I agree, Sirius," Cedric says with a slight smile, and I stare in amazement. Here he is; yet another child that I have failed.

And I am even more amazed when, rather than ignore him, Sirius grumbles under his breath and then nods in defeat.

"Fine," the man says angrily. "Fine. Dumbledore, welcome; make yourself comfortable. Don't go far."

After he drifts away, there is silence.

"Why didn't you teach him to fight?" a quiet voice asks, and I turn to see Lily watching me. "You know he'll need to. You know that finding and destroying the horcruxes isn't enough. You know the Death Eaters will be guarding the others."

"I do," I agree. "But I felt… and still feel… that Minerva, Filius and Remus need a chance to do right by him, as I was never able to do."

"We saw," James says, as Cedric drifts a ways away to give us privacy. "We saw every minute of his life with the Dursleys. Dumbledore, we told you not to put him there."

"I know," I whisper, and a tear slides down my cheek. "I know. I'm so sorry. Forgive me. I never thought…"

And I hadn't. I'd never dreamed they would treat him this badly. Oh, how often I've dreamed that I did things differently, that I took him away from that place or, better yet, never brought him there… How much I longed, at the end of his first year, to tell him not to get on that train…

But I know that, no matter how much I wish it, I could never have kept him safe. Even at Hogwarts, I couldn't keep him safe.

I have failed him.

"We know you didn't expect them to be so cruel, Albus," James says softly. "And we know that once Petunia took him in, the protections were sealed. He needed them. But… You need to understand. You're not the only one who says and does everything for a reason."

I nod sadly, wishing desperately that I had some lemon drops… And smile brightly when a bag of them appears in mid-air before me.

"James! Lily! Come see this!" Sirius shouts, and I turn to see him standing several feet away and staring… down.

The couple rushes to his side, and I follow them. A moment later, Cedric rejoins us, standing on Sirius' other side, and, to my shock, Bertha Jorkins and Bartemius Crouch move beside him. Then come the Prewett twins, who merely nod calmly at me before turning their gazes downward. Beside them, an elderly man whom I've never met appears.

"Well, Frank, looks like you were right," one of the Prewetts says. "Ol' Lupin's finally growing a backbone."

"Told you he would," the old man – Frank – grunts. "He has the look of a veteran, that one."

"I knew Moony wouldn't let us down," James says with a smile, and Lily reaches out and takes his hand.

Curious, I lean forward.

I'm not quite sure how it works, but somehow, I can see right into Grimmauld Place. Harry is sitting on the couch, looking quite astounded, and Remus is sitting before him, speaking earnestly. I listen carefully and hear him say, "…of course, I hope you'll let me help you."

I smile proudly, even as Mrs. Abbott, Edgar Bones and Marlene McKinnon join us.

I've failed him.

But not everyone has.

And maybe, just maybe, he'll be all right.

* * *

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**LIZ **


	2. Remus Lupin

**Dereliction of Duty**  
Chapter 1 – Remus Lupin

I feel like a fool.

I should have told Harry. Dumbledore's orders be damned, I should have told him.

Sirius said that Harry needed to know.

Sirius is dead.

Dumbledore's dead.

I wonder if Sirius is hitting him right now, and if Lily and James are happy to see him.

I wonder if they're watching me. All four of them.

I wonder if Lily and James were watching when I let Dumbledore take Harry to Privet Drive for the first time. When I just stood aside and watched as he was taken away from the last free and living family member he had.

Oh, I know I'm not his blood. But Lily told me that I'm a part of their family in every way that matters. I'm family.

I shouldn't have let him go.

I remember being Uncle Moony. Coming over when Harry was just a baby, watching him perform feats of accidental – and some not-so-accidental – magic at such a young age. He levitated a picture of his grandfather when he knocked it off the coffee table one day. He was only a year old.

It was incredible.

I remember putting him to bed that night Lily and James went out on a date and asked Sirius and I to watch him. Sirius was running around playing with Harry, crawling on the ground right beside him, and was so worn out that he fell asleep before Harry did. I covered Sirius up on the couch and left him there, and then I took Harry into the nursery.

It took him so long to fall asleep, because Sirius had gotten him all worked up. I sat in the rocking chair I'd carved him and rocked him for hours. He just laid there in my arms, his beautiful green eyes, so much like Lily's, staring into mine.

I made a promise that night to him. A promise I didn't keep.

When he finally drifted to sleep, I swore I would always protect him. I swore that I would always be there for him when he needed me.

And then, when he needed me, I let him go.

I remember stopping by Privet Drive before I left for France… a month after he'd been left at _that house_. I could hear him crying from the street. I could hear _that woman_ cursing him from the street.

I just stood there. And then I left.

I never told Dumbledore. I never told Arabella. I never told anyone.

I just ran away. I just left him completely alone.

I didn't see him again until his third year. And when I did, I panicked. I avoided him. I treated him like just another student.

The only thing I ever did for him was to teach him one spell.

Then Sirius was innocent. And we were together again. After years of being alone, I had one of my best friends back. And he had to go on the run, and I barely saw him.

I left Harry alone.

And then, Harry's fourth year. He had that blasted tournament. He nearly died.

I didn't even owl him. I wanted, so badly, to go to the third task. I almost owled Molly and asked if she'd mind me tagging along. But I didn't feel welcome. Why would he want useless old Moony there? I'd never been there for him. I didn't expect him to want me there.

And I was right. I asked Molly that summer if he'd asked about any of us. He hadn't even mentioned me.

Then his fifth year. Hermione and Ginny told me what had been happening to him. Hermione, especially, owled me and told me that Umbridge was giving Harry detention again and again. She had wanted to firecall me, and I could tell there was more she wanted to tell me, but I refused. If Umbridge found out I was still in touch with some of my old students, she would give Dumbledore a very hard time, I said.

And then, Ron owled me.

I remember the howler he sent with perfect clarity.

"YOU USELESS OLD MAN! THAT ABSOLUTE BITCH IS MAKING HIM CUT HIS HAND OPEN EVERY NIGHT WITH A BLOOD QUILL! DON'T YOU EVEN CARE? WHAT USE IS THE PRECIOUS _ORDER_ IF IT CAN'T EVEN PROTECT HIM FROM A _TEACHER_?"

I owled him back and calmly asked what Harry wanted done about it. And I received a second howler in response.

"_NOTHING, YOU GREAT PONCE! HE'S AFRAID MCGONAGALL AND DUMBLEDORE WILL BE FIRED IF THEY TRY TO HELP HIM! HE REFUSES TO TELL ANYBODY! HE THINKS HE HAS TO PROTECT EVERYBODY! YOU FOOL, HE THINKS ALL HE HAS IS HERMIONE AND ME! WHAT ABOUT HIS GODFATHER, EH? AND WHAT ABOUT REMUS LUPIN? WHAT GOOD ARE YOU TO HIM_?"

I didn't answer. I couldn't. I wasn't about to go against Harry's wishes, I told myself.

But only Ron and I knew the truth. Only we knew that I was too afraid to help my best friend's son.

Only we know that I've always been useless.

And after Snape threw Harry out of his office, after he quit teaching Harry Occlumency, I said I'd go down and _make _him start again.

I didn't.

I was afraid Umbridge would catch me and throw me out.

Always, I've been afraid.

And then Sirius died. Ron was attacked by the brains in the Department of Mysteries. Hermione nearly died. Neville was tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange. Ginny broke her ankle. Harry was possessed by Voldemort. Only Luna seemed to be unharmed by the battle.

And I knew. I knew that it was entirely my fault.

If I had made Snape resume the lessons, like I had said I would, Harry never would have been lured out of Hogwarts.

If I'd owled Harry once in a while, he would have known he could turn to me if something happened.

If I'd made Sirius stay behind when the call came in to go to the Department of Mysteries, he wouldn't have died.

I was a fool. And it was entirely my fault.

And so I drowned in guilt. I wouldn't talk to Harry, to Arthur, to anyone. I avoided both Harry and Ron like the plague. I took to ducking into my room any time I saw Tonks coming. And Dumbledore…

I never wanted to see Dumbledore again.

Another year went by. I wallowed in my guilt. I drowned myself in solitude.

And I failed Harry again.

He should have been training. He should have kept the DA going. He should have been doing more to prepare himself than simple history lessons with Dumbledore.

I should have owled him. I should have gone to the school to visit him.

I should have ripped Scrimgeour apart when he tried to use Harry to make himself look good.

But I didn't. I just avoided everybody. I avoided everything.

And then it all went to Hell again.

Dumbledore died.

And now, Harry's going to go off with Ron and Hermione on some half-brained scheme to find bits of Voldemort's soul. With no support. With no help.

I turn into the sitting room and slowly sit down in front of Harry. I know I have to talk to Tonks, too, but Harry has to come first.

He's never come first before, but he always should have.

I need to live. That's what Lily would say. I need to live.

James would tell me to shut up and do what I know I _should_ do.

"Harry," I said slowly, and he looks up, his eyes meeting mine. They are red-rimmed and puffy, and he wipes at his eyes, trying to hide the quite obvious fact that he has been crying.

And suddenly, I realize that we have all failed him.

All of us, except for Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville and Luna.

All of the Order has failed where five children succeeded.

We have not let the Boy Who Lived down. We have let Harry down.

"Harry," I say again.

"You can't stop me," he says mutinously. "I know what I have to do. Dumbledore told me. I'm not going back to Hogwarts. You won't make…"

He trails off when I hold up a hand.

"Of course I won't make you, Harry. Though you must admit, Hogwarts would make a good Headquarters to work out of while you're searching. And with Minerva and Filius there, you could easily gain training in dueling."

He's eying me suspiciously now, and I understand. I've never been there for him.

That ends now.

"And, of course, I hope you'll let me help you," I continue. "I'll even quit the Order if you like, though I daresay you'll need their information. But I suspect that combining Hermione's already formidable research skills and spell lexicon with mine, in addition to Ron's determination, tactical knowledge and bravery, will give you an even better team."

And now, he looks absolutely flabbergasted. It hurts to see that he's so shocked I want to help him.

"And Harry," I added slowly, looking him in the eye. "You do need to live while you're fighting."

It took a moment before he spoke. "The prophecy says _neither can live while the other survives_."

"Well," I replied, "You'll just have to prove it wrong, won't you?" Smiling slightly, I whispered, "She's good for you, Harry. I've never seen a couple more suited for each other than the two of you, unless it was Lily and James."

And then I clap him on the shoulder and leave in search of Ron. I owe him an apology, I know. Because he was right. I was of no use to Harry.

Tonks will be next.

I hope she'll still have me.

* * *

Do I even have to say it anymore:) Ah, well, repetition can be good for me - Review if you have somethng to say, folks.

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**LIZ **


	3. Severus Snape

**Dereliction of Duty**  
Chapter 2 – Severus Snape

I can still see his face. His eyes. I can hear his voice.

Albus had always insisted the boy wasn't capable of hatred. That he had no cruelty in him.

He was wrong.

_DON'T CALL ME COWARD!_

My own voice rings in my ears, and I hate myself, more than I ever have. The loathing, the hatred in his eyes… he'd looked at me like I was nothing, like he would gladly wipe me out of existence.

And he still hasn't learned to Occlude his mind. Voldemort and his other, lesser opponents can anticipate his every move until he does this. Foolish boy, doesn't he realize that even Scrimgeour has Legilimency experts working for him? He's an open book!

He's a fool.

I tried to teach him. I tried. He just wouldn't learn. There was no point in doing the theory, or so I thought, because I have noticed that Potter learns best through experience.

Several of his memories flash through my mind, and I clench my fists as it occurs to me exactly _why_ he learns best the hard way.

And I can't breathe.

He thinks I wanted to. He thinks I killed Dumbledore out of hatred. What he doesn't realize is that I had to channel my hatred of Narcissa, of Bellatrix, of Voldemort to complete that spell. And I had to complete it. I would have died had I not.

It was my life or Dumbledore's. The life of a spy or the life of a figurehead.

Malfoy's life or Dumbledore's. The life of a child or an old man.

There was no choice.

And I'm cold.

I put the bottle of whiskey down and it sloshes all over the table. My hand is not shaking, I tell myself. The table is lopsided.

And I'm not a coward.

The sky isn't blue.

It's black. And it's raining blood.

It's raining guilt. My guilt. Because I know, deep down, that there must have been another way.

I know, deep down, that I should get Draco far away from here.

I know, deep down, that I should go to Potter. That I should help him.

Because I know the task ahead of him is not as easy as Dumbledore made it sound. This is no mere treasure hunt he is on. Even Dumbledore, the strongest and wisest of the Light, does not understand what he faces.

They haven't a bloody clue.

I should go to him. I should help him.

He'd just try to kill me. Weasley probably would kill me. Granger would suggest tying me up in the basement and torturing me for information.

That girl has a blood-thirsty streak. She has a great deal of Slytherin in her. I could see it in Potter's mind. She blackmailed that reporter, after all. What was that if not a _Slytherin_ action?

The blasted Know-It-All Gryffindor.

I should go to Potter. I should help him.

I lift up my bottle again and try to take a sip, but it spills all over me.

Blast.

* * *

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**LIZ**


	4. Kingsley Shacklebolt

**Dereliction of Duty**  
Chapter 3 – Kingsley Shacklebolt

The boy blames himself. It's obvious.

I don't know how it is that Lupin doesn't see it, or that he's taken so long to notice that the boy is hurting. He blames himself for Cedric Diggory's death. For Sirius' death. For Dumbledore's death.

For his parents' death.

They all died, in his mind, because of him.

It's high time that Potter realizes that all of us – except Diggory's boy – know the risk we are taking, and _chose _the risk we are taking. He's not responsible for us. He's not responsible for _any_ of us. And he has _no right_ to deny us that choice! None! He's not the only one who has lost people, who has lost innocence, who has been forced to make difficult choices.

But he's the only one who, in the end, can deal the killing blow.

And I'm afraid – so afraid – that knowing that is killing _him_. What not-yet seventeen year old boy _wouldn't_ go crazy at the thought of having to commit murder or let thousands of innocent people die?

All this over a terrorist. Just one more cowardly terrorist.

And for some reason, only Harry's friends can do right by the boy. None of the adults in his life know what he needs. Molly coddles him and tries to shelter him, though he has been far beyond sheltering all his life. Arthur – well, I'm not quite sure what Arthur does. He seems to treat him as an equal, and I find that a wise thing to do, but he does not treat him like a loved one, as well. And that's foolish. I know Molly and Arthur love the boy. He is, in their heart of hearts, their seventh son.

Remus – well, Remus seems to be wising up. I saw him walk into the room Harry was in earlier with a determined sort of look on his face. It's about time.

But Sirius…

Sirius didn't realize that, as unsheltered as the boy is, as independent as the boy is, he still needs a trustworthy, reliable adult to turn to. Sirius couldn't give him that. He could only – or so it seemed to this nosy outsider – give him a friend. And Harry already has many friends.

And Dumbledore.

I don't understand how Dumbledore could fail so miserably to guide and help the boy. I don't understand it at all. Because there's an old geezer named Aberforth Dumbledore who used to tell me stories all of the time about young Albus Dumbledore. And Moody has his fair share of tales about the great, venerable Dumbledore himself.

Having heard those, I don't understand how Dumbledore could have failed Harry so horribly. Because Harry, from what I saw of the boy and what I heard of Dumbledore, is very much like his once-mentor was as a child.

Except, of course, young Albus did not have the fate of the world resting on his shoulders during childhood. That _is_ a minor difference.

But I – well, Tonks and I, actually – have failed him even worse.

We saw his pain. We saw the things the others did not see.

And we did nothing.

My mother always told me that idleness was of the Devil. And I believe she was right.

I just hope my idleness does no lasting harm.

I hope Remus isn't too late.

I hope Harry isn't already _lost_.

* * *

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**LIZ **


	5. Hermione Granger

**Dereliction of Duty**  
Chapter 4 – Hermione Granger

Sometimes, I truly hate myself.

They taught me so much, Harry and Ron did… so much about life and happiness and friendship. I thought I'd learned form them after the troll incident in our first year.

I suppose that I really haven't learned much at all.

It's odd how a person changes over the years. I remember when I was eight years old, my fondest wish was to get that new copy of the latest mystery novel at the library, and my greatest fear – which frequently came true – was that no one would pick me for their team in grammar school.

Then I was twelve years old, wondering what on earth the Sorcerer's Stone was doing in Hogwarts, who was after it, and how to make Harry and Ron do their work.

Then I was thirteen years old, wondering who had unleashed the basilisk and absolutely terrified that something would happen to my boys.

Then I was fourteen years old, and a raving murderer was after Harry, and I was so afraid that he would try to sneak out of school and get revenge…

Then I was fifteen years old, wondering who had entered Harry into the most dangerous magical tournament in existence against his will, how I was ever going to get him through the tournament, and what _in the world_ was wrong with Ron…

I was sixteen, and Voldemort was back, and everything was all wrong. People were dying and disappearing, Harry was having horrible nightmares, that absolute _hag_ was making him cut his own hand open night after night…

I was seventeen, and Sirius was dead. Harry was so calm. He was getting history lessons from Dumbledore – _history lessons_! Now, I understand that knowledge is power, but _really_! How is knowing Voldemort's background going to arm Harry against Voldemort's Death Eaters!

…I was seventeen, and I was failing Harry Potter. I was spending my time doing class work and wondering how I was ever going to get Ron's attention. And Harry warned me again and again that Malfoy was up to something, turning to me as he always used to do, and I just brushed his warnings aside.

Oh, I… I love Ron dearly, I do. But Harry… Harrry's like my younger brother… and maybe I even see him as my son a bit, too… he certainly says that I nag him enough. I love Ron. He completes me. But Harry is the sibling I always wanted, and never had.

And after - if I _do_ say so myself - an amazing speech in first year about the value of friendship and bravery, I managed to forsake both. I ignored Harry in favor of a romantic entanglement… with our best friend, no less. I ignored his warnings in favor of jealously, pettiness and spite.

And now Dumbledore's dead, and Harry really thinks he is finally alone.

I've already failed my brother. And I will not fail him again.

* * *

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**LIZ **


	6. Arthur Weasley

**Dereliction of Duty**  
Chapter 5 – Arthur Weasley

I feel like a failure.

Oh, I know – no one would expect it. Dear old Arthur, always so cheerful, so inquisitive – bumbling old Arthur, with his foolish obsessions…

Oh no, there's no depth _here_…

But there's pain. There's pain and hopelessness and _worthlessness_, so much worthlessness. Every time I look at those emerald eyes, I feel worthless.

I feel like a fool.

I feel like a failure.

I let him leave.

Oh, I know, there are those who would say there was nothing I could do. There are those who would say that he wasn't my responsibility – that taking him in every summer for as long as we did was all we could have done.

Those are the same people who sit down, stare at the headlines every morning and say, "What a shame."

And do nothing.

Those are the people I used to be.

I feel like a failure.

I remember hearing the news that Voldemort had died. I remember that I barely even acknowledged the Potters' death.

I remember the shame I felt when I opened the first letter from Ron about his new friend, Harry.

I remember the day I first met Harry Potter.

He was sitting at my kitchen table when I walked in from an all-night raid. His clothes were gigantic on his thin frame – don't get me wrong, my kids don't wear designer clothes, but at least we try to find them things that fit – and I swear if I had been able to see the boy's torso, I would have been able to count every one of his ribs. His face was gaunt and his eyes –

His eyes sparkled with a fire like I had never seen.

But they also drowned with pain.

I looked at Harry, looked at his eyes, and hated myself.

And I let him leave. I let him go back. I let Dumbledore send him back, year after year after –

–I celebrated the night his parents died. I celebrated the night the weight of the world came crashing down on his bony shoulders.

I didn't celebrate his loss; I know that – I celebrated only the world's gain. But I never truly mourned Lily and James Potter.

And I never mourned Harry.

No one wants to say it, no one wants to see it, but I know it. A part of him died that night. And a part of him has been dying ever since.

And so have I.

It kills me to watch a part of one of my sons die.

But there are times for self-pity, and this is not one of them. Harry has been connecting with Remus – I'm glad for it. I'm glad for both of them. They each need someone so desperately –

It'll never be me. But that's all right. I can be content with being "Mr. Weasley." As Lucius would say, I have more sons than I can handle, and no need for another.

But he'll always be mine, even though he doesn't know it.

Even though I can't tell him how I feel.

I feel like a failure.

Rising from the table, I cap the bottle of Ogden's with a steady hand – not a drop missing from the bottle I opened an hour before, with every intention of drowning my sorrows – and go in search of my seventh son.

A failure is what I was.

And a failure is what I refuse to be.

* * *

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**LIZ **


	7. Filius Flitwick

**Dereliction of Duty**  
Chapter 6 – Filius Flitwick

I've never dared to join.

Oh, I knew about the Order of the Phoenix – where Albus, Minerva and later Severus disappeared to every time something terrible happened. I knew even before Albus invited me…

...the first time.

I never pretended to be anything more than a coward. I never pretended to be a warrior.

Maybe that's why I was taken down so easily when Snape betrayed us.

But that doesn't explain why I'm standing here.

Lily does.

Every time I refused Albus's invitation, every time I turned him away, I saw her face.

Every time I opened the newspaper to more deaths, disappearances, tragedies, I saw her funeral.

And that's _before_ she died.

Then came Harry.

And then came the real guilt.

Guilt walked into my classroom one morning in early September, and when I read his name I fell.

Toppled right off my stack of books like a giddy fan.

Like someone who didn't know Lily Evans Potter.

There are so many stories, so many things I could have told him to help him know his mother, to help him feel that she still –

I have insulted her memory, betrayed my word more times than I can count.

And it stops now.

With a wave of my wand, I levitate myself until the upper shelves of my study are within my reach. Fondly, I recall my first day in these quarters, when Albus offered to shrink everything down to a more manageable level for me. Myself, I've never been one to expect the world to adjust to me. I adjust to the world.

And it is time that I do so.

Carefully, I lift the small wooden chest off of the shelf and lower myself to the ground, my fingertips idly tracing the delicate petals carved into the surface. This chest had never needed a label – not with the lilies carved into it. Not with the roses entwined around their stems.

Not with what lies inside.

Grabbing my cloak with my free hand, I make quickly for the door and rush up to Albus's – Minerva's, I recall with a sudden sadness – office. She will lead me to Grimmauld Place, I know it.

It is time that Harry knows. I have waited six years – Lily said I'd know when he was ready…

…it's been time enough.

* * *

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**LIZ **


	8. Poppy Pomfrey

**Dereliction of Duty**  
Chapter 7 – Poppy Pomfrey

I saw the scars.

And first of all, do no harm. That's the tenet I swore when I became a mediwitch. All healers swear it – in the Muggle and wizarding world both. Do no harm.

That's a hard creed to live by.

I haven't managed it.

I have done harm.

I saw the scars. The first time the boy was in my care – when he was in that hospital bed, within my grasp for the first time, I saw the scars. I saw all of the red, protruding lines on his fragile skin, counted every rib, saw every trace injury that remained –

– he was so delicate. So battered.

Of course, telling him that to his _face_ was a mistake, as I did at the beginning of the poor boy's first year. I understand that. And he has such a strong spirit, such a valiant soul –

– but his body had already been pushed nearly to the breaking point, long before he stepped through my doors.

I saw the scars.

And when Dumbledore said he was to return to the Dursleys' _tender loving care_, I said not a word.

Not a single word.

And first of all, do no harm.

I remember having him in this hospital wing after the Third Task in the Triwizard Tournament. He was so tired, so very tired, and in more ways than one. And yet he stood up, and he told Fudge the truth – forced the man to look the truth in the eye, and despaired when the Minister continued to deny it. And it was only when he had been pushed that far that he let himself be comforted.

I nearly wept when Molly Weasley took him in her arms.

Nobody knows I saw that.

But then, nobody seems to realize that I have seen the scars.

And first of all, do no harm.

I saw the scars.

And I did nothing.

* * *

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**LIZ **


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